


poetry for kids

by Serpents_Cradle



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Literary RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Author's Attempt at Witticism, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Horse Cock Jokes, John Works at Barnes & Noble, M/M, Modern Era, Percy is a Dork, Shelving Books Where They Don't Belong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25162021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpents_Cradle/pseuds/Serpents_Cradle
Summary: If Percy was younger, a little less socially aware and a little more impatient, he would have just pre-ordered the book on Amazon like any other self-respecting twenty-something with a credit card. He would have shelled out the $12.50 without thinking, settled on his couch, maybe made a cup of tea, and waited for his doorbell to ring.For better or worse, current-Percy knew that Jeff Bezos was an asshole who exploited his workers, and as a direct result, he now stood just outside the strip mall Barnes & Noble.
Relationships: John Keats/Percy Shelley, Lord Byron/Percy Shelley, Mary Shelley/Percy Shelley
Kudos: 16





	poetry for kids

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shelleysfork (waltswhits)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltswhits/gifts).



> this is basically incoherent and entirely self-indulgent.  
> please don't ask me about how the timeline is retconned for the purposes of this fic. I couldn't tell you. 
> 
> shoutout to ben, rey, and jeremy for being my guinea pigs!

**bisexual disaster squad 🐎**

_bigdickgeorge69: listen_

_bigdickgeorge69: my publisher said its in new releases but idk_

_bigdickgeorge69: if its not im suing 4 emotional damages_

_[bigdickgeorge69 is typing…]_

If Percy was younger, a little less socially aware and a little more impatient, he would have just pre-ordered the book on Amazon like any other self-respecting twenty-something with a credit card. He would have shelled out the $12.50 without thinking, settled on his couch, maybe made a cup of tea, and waited for his doorbell to ring. For better or worse, current-Percy knew that Jeff Bezos was an asshole who exploited his workers, and as a direct result, he now stood just outside the strip mall Barnes & Noble, tapping away impatiently at his phone.

**bisexual disaster squad 🐎**

_bigdickgeorge69: r u in b &n yet _

_pecksies_elf: dude, calm down, i’m there now. i’m going to get it_

_bigdickgeorge69: :3c_

Conversely, If Percy was older, a little less careless and a little more thoughtful, he would have found a group of friends that didn’t unironically use “:3c” to express their emotions.

He makes it exactly three more steps into the bookstore before his phone buzzes in his pocket again, but he ignores it; George’s instructions were clear, and Percy isn’t going to waste his time with someone who uses the three-face in AD 2020.

He rounds the corner into the New Releases section, bypassing the periodicals and young adult novels to edge into where the book, presumably, would be. He’s praying that he can find it on his own so that he doesn’t have to text George again, but to his dismay, the ‘New Releases: Poetry’ shelf is completely Byron-less. He’s about to bail and text Mary to _please pick him up, maybe Jeff Bezos isn’t so bad after all_ when someone taps on his shoulder gently.

Percy whirls around, praying he hasn’t been recognized after the bathroom incident of 2018, but it’s just an employee with wide eyes and curly hair. A… Markedly short employee, Percy decides, and he briefly considers crouching down slightly to meet his eye better, but the man—boy? He has no idea—is already speaking.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He asks, perfectly composed in that trained, customer-service sort of way, but there’s a definite sort of death in his eyes that comes from dealing with middle-aged white women who only come in to buy Marie Callender recipe books and argue. He’s got half the mind to apologize for bothering him. 

Unfortunately, he _is_ looking for something in particular, and this is a golden opportunity if he’s ever seen one. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbles, looking back over at the shelf, verifying once again that he’s not going to make himself look like an idiot by asking for a book within arm’s reach. “Do you happen to have the new Byron verse tale? _The_ , ah, _The Giaour.”_

The employee smiles again, a bit brighter than he had before. It's almost like he’s sharing an inside joke with himself. Percy’s eyes flick down to read the name on his lanyard. _John_ . “ _Oh_ , we have all of _Byron’s_ publications in one place,” he says, a playful sort of mocking dripping from his tongue that Percy can’t quite peg. “Follow me.”

John turns on his heel and purposefully works his way out of the New Releases section. Percy’s not quite sure where they’re going, but they are _going—_ John walks much faster than he’d expected for someone for such short legs. His wavy hair bounces around his shoulders like liquid copper. 

Soon enough, he takes a turn off of the main circuit, gesturing loosely at the shelf markers. “Here we are!” He chirps happily, eyes sparkling with some sort of petty mischief as Percy finally turns to look at where they are. _Poetry for Kids._

Percy baulks at the sign for a moment, turning to face John with what he’s certain is visible confusion. He’s read plenty of George’s work, and he’s certain that shelving it in the _Children’s Section_ is all but a call for disaster. “What do you mean?” 

This must be the final straw for John because he’s laughing now, bright and sparkling. It’s like a freshly poured flute of champagne, Percy thinks; it’s certainly a laugh he wouldn’t mind getting drunk on, under other circumstances, but he’s still _so_ taken aback. He’s half expecting Ashton Kutcher to jump out of the aisle and yell ‘Punk’d’ at him. 

“It’s just a joke,” John chortles, practically choking through his laughter, pulling his hands from behind his back to present a thin, cloth-bound volume. “It was right behind you, I just hate him so much—Please don’t tell my manager.”

It takes a moment for Percy to fully process what’s just happened, and before he knows it, he’s laughing along with the shorter man, giddy from both the joke and the man’s spirituous tittering. “Gods, you scared me,” he breathes, taking the book with careful hands. “Do you know how pissed off he’d be if you were serious? He’d go into one of his tirades—”

“ _You know him?_ ” John interjects, and it’s halfway an astonished exclamation and halfway an accusation. “With all due respect, I would rather eat an entire volume of Spenser than hold a conversation with that man. I admire your dedication.”

Percy just shakes his head, running his fingers over the spine of the book. “He’s a lot, I won’t argue otherwise,” he replies, sighing as his phone buzzes again. “In fact, he’s been texting me since I got here—he’s, uh, very eager to have me read _The Giaour_ for some reason.”

“ _Oh_ ,” John coos, his eyes sparkling again, that same mischievous glimmer that had come before their expedition to the Island of _Poetry for Kids_. “So you’re more than friends, then?”

For the second time in no more than two minutes, Percy finds himself left absolutely speechless by the man he has suddenly decided must be some breed of trickster fae. “What,” he says, eloquently as ever. “How would you—”

“I read it,” John replies easily, patting the cover of the poem gently. “There’s no way that he would send you after it if he wasn’t at _least_ courting you. Tragic poetic romance? Remorse and lust? _Vampirism?_ Come _on_.”

“You read it,” Percy repeats, very much feeling like he’s being used as a crutch for John’s own personal narrative. _Be the main character, Percy, for fuck’s sake._ He pulls his phone from his pocket as a half-hearted means of escape. 

**bisexual disaster squad 🐎**

bigdickgeorge69: dude

bigdickgeorge69: r u there

jpolidori: bitch shut the fuck up

[41 Unread Messages]

He laughs weakly, and John catches his eye with a knowing glance. “It’s a shame that he’s your boyfriend, but I suppose you _are_ far too pretty to be single.”

Three. _Three_ times, this tiny man has stolen Percy’s words completely, and he hardly ever finds himself properly speechless. John’s gone from joking and mocking to _flirting_ , and in that moment he thinks that he’s finally met someone with less restraint than Byron. At his place of _work_ , no less. “Aren’t—aren’t you supposed to be working?”

John blinks and checks his watch silently. “As of two minutes and thirty-five seconds, no,” he smiles, but it’s a lot more open and shy than the last one had been. Clearly, he’d expected a different reply, but he doesn’t seem surprised by the one he received. “But… I can check you out if you’re done browsing? Or I can _check you out_ … _"_

Percy swallows hard, cocking his head slightly as he sizes the man up. He’s sharp; he’s already made that much clear. He’s certainly not unattractive, either, between his soft, youthful face and alluring curls. “You might do both. If you like,” he replies, finally finding his voice. “I’m poly, by the way. Don’t worry about George.”

“Oh, so you _are_ dating,” John replies, but it’s not as biting, not as _sharp_ as it had been before. Percy wonders if he’s decided that doubling down has paid off. “May I show you one more thing, first? If that’s alright, I mean, and you like poetry that isn’t written by your boyfriend-and/or-friend-with-benefits.”

Percy surprises himself by nodding a yes, letting John take his hand gently and lead him back further into the bookstore. The colour of the children’s section fades away pretty fast, but there’s still tons of bright blues and golds within the other areas. He knows it well, and when George isn’t harassing him about buying his newest work, he rather enjoys it among the stacks. John stops in front of one of the bookshelves in the poetry section, pulling out a much thicker volume with practised hands. Percy takes it, but John’s fingers linger on the edges, reverent and careful. It’s a familiar gesture. “This is yours,” Percy mumbles, pleased to see that the name on the front matches John’s own.

Nodding, John runs his thumb over the binding, smiling privately. He’s so mercurial, Percy thinks; teasing and bright one second, sombre the next. The shift captures his attention more than the volume in his hands, at first, but then John taps the title gently and draws him back to the book. “ _Endymion._ My one and only, really,” he murmurs. “She’s a critical failure, but it’s alright. I’ll buy it for you, as long as _someone_ is willing to read it.”

“I’ll buy it,” Percy blurts, blind faith manifesting low in his stomach. “It doesn’t seem right to make you buy your own book. I’ll buy two, actually; my wife might like to read it, as well.”

John’s face becomes a portrait that would rival the sun’s own luminescence, shining from his browline to his chin. His smile makes his cheekbones stand out more, makes the tiny ridge in his nose seem antiquely endearing, but it’s all secondary to the way that smile lights up his eyes. There’s a slight crinkle at the edges of his eyelid, a gentle squint that betrays a childish sort of glee. Percy’s well aware that he’s just met this man, but he’d buy a hundred volumes of whatever mediocre poetry he might be holding to see that twinkle again. “Thank you,” John whispers, halfway to reverent. “I… I didn’t ask your name. What is it? I want to thank you properly.”

“Percy.”

“Thank you, Percy.”

Percy nods again and, in a fit of sudden impulsivity, leans down—substantially—to press a kiss to John’s cheek. John blinks in surprise, reaching up to gently touch the spot where Percy’s mouth had been, lips parting slightly. “That’s a proper thank you,” he murmurs, still a tad dazed.

“You know,” the taller man begins, laying a gentle hand on John’s shoulder, “tormenting Lord Byron is much more fun when you know him personally. I would kill to see you two go toe to toe, and I am a pacifist.”

Laughing, John shoves Percy’s arm lightly, then closes his fingers around his bicep. “ _You_ know, most people don’t like it when you talk about other men after you kiss them,” he teases, “but it’s far less offensive to talk about other men _before_ you kiss someone, don’t you think?”

Percy is about to interject, confused, but then John is pulling him down and kissing him shyly, chaste and kind despite his words. The taller of the pair is acutely aware that the shorter is on his tiptoes, and he grins quietly into the kiss, bringing one arm down carefully to stabilize John’s torso.

When John pulls back, the gentle glint in his eye has returned. “Did you know you can check out your books at the Starbucks register? They hate when you do it, but I would _really_ like to buy you a croissant, and I can’t do that at the main register…”

“I would never say no to croissants,” Percy replies, smiling stupidly as John takes his hand and leads him towards the café.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise i know more about the romantics than this shitpost might lead you to believe—come join my [discord server](https://discord.gg/CgSwe9b) or find me on tumblr at [@praeclari](https://praeclari.tumblr.com)!


End file.
